Untold
by Elle452
Summary: ...More brawn than brain and food addicted to the point of gluttony. This statement was often used, perhaps not in so many words, to summarize the character of one Dean Winchester... Wee!chester moments
1. Little Known

Disclaimer - I do not own Supernatural or any of the affiliated characters/storylines. I am only responsible for what you don't recognize.

This is my first _Supernatural _fic, and it will be a two-parter (maybe three). there is a lot more going on behind the scenes for Dean than he's given credit for. This little number has been niggling inside my head for about two weeks now so I've finally decided to write it down. Let me know what you think.

For timeline purposes, though I don't plan to have any spoilers, this takes place mid-Season One. Definately before _Shadow_.

Enjoy!

-Elle

**Untold - Part One**

More brawn than brain and food addicted to the point of gluttony. This statement was often used, perhaps not in so many words, to summarize the character of one Dean Winchester. While Sam knew his brother wasn't an idiot, he could hardly refute the existence of a food addiction.

"Dude, take it easy or that burger'll be revisiting you." Sam watched in half disgust, half fascination as Dean put away his second bacon cheeseburger in a matter of minutes and topped them off with the large fry. Dean offered a wry grin before swallowing the last of his meal.

"You're just jealous you don't have my talent." Sam snorted.

"Right. I just thank God you weren't such a pig when we were growing up or we all would have starved with you around!"

The look Dean sent him was odd. His lips tugged into his patent sarcastic grin but this time it didn't seem to reach his eyes. Instead, the green depths flickered with something, a shadow of a memory, before Dean rose from the creaky bed doubling as his dinner table and the connection was broken.

* * *

Dean was six the first time his teacher asked him to stay in from recess to "talk". Only six, but already he'd developed an immediate dislike for adults who wanted to "talk." Despite this, he stayed at his desk, unmoving as the teacher pulled up a chair next to him. He'd been at the school for only two weeks, what could he have done that warranted no recess? Mrs. James must have read his mind,

"You aren't in trouble, Dean. I just thought you and I might get a chance to know one another."

The tawny-headed boy had been in her class an entire two weeks and had yet to utter a single syllable. Didn't raise his hand. Didn't ask to go to the washroom. Didn't leave his desk during free time. Nothing. In her twenty years, Mrs. James had never met a child as withdrawn as Dean Winchester. And she was determined to bring him out of his shell if it was the last thing she did. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out three chocolate kisses. The silver foil winked in the flicker florescent lighting. She held out her hand and waited. And waited.

"Would you like a chocolate, Dean?" She offered. Perhaps he needed some persuasion.

It had been two days since Dean had eaten anything. On Monday morning he'd had half a bowl of dry Cheerios for breakfast. He'd poured the other half bowl carefully back into the box, knowing that daddy hadn't worked for a while now and it was time to save food. Sammy needed to eat – he was a growing boy. Growing bigger every day daddy had said. Daddy didn't notice when Dean sneaked his food back into its source, hoping to stretch the meals out another few days. Pastor Jim was coming tomorrow and daddy was going to work. Then they'd have money.

So with his small stomach cramping and folding in on itself, Dean blinked owlishly at Mrs. James, expression blank and didn't reach for a chocolate.

Sighing, Mrs. James withdrew her hand and stood. "Okay Dean, you can go now if you'd like."

* * *

It was pure coincidence, in a way that things rarely were for the Winchester brothers, when they'd run into Billy, Janet, Paul and Lucy at the Cup O'Joy pub in Nowhere, USA. Sam was delighted. Seeing his college buddies made him nostalgic, melancholic and ecstatic all in the same breath. Without casting his brother so much as a sideways glance, he'd ushered them over and shoved his chair until he was almost in Dean's lap to make room for them. Forty-fine minutes later they were laughing and chatting like old times.

"I can't believe it, Sam, seeing you here after all this time." Paul spoke around a bit of onion ring.

"I know. It's unreal. But it's great to see you guys." Sam grinned around the table, basking in the warmth and memory his friends brought. He eyes fell to Dean, who'd been charming as usual, but unusually quiet.

"So what do you do, Dean?" Janet questioned, tone mildly snide as Dean found college kids were prone to be. He knew he practically had a sign stapled to his forehead that said "HIGH SCHOOL DROP OUT" and Sam-types tended to zero in on it.

"This and that." He flashed his teeth at her in a polite grin and snickered inwardly when he saw Billy's arm tighten around her. _Relax pal, I aint't after your girl. _

"So you're not in school then?" Billy's lips were feral, but Sam didn't see the threat, he only saw friendly conversation. This "friendly conversation" carried on along the same vein for another 15 minutes or so before Dean's patience had run its course.

"Well, scintillating as the evening's been, I'm beat. I'm going to head back to the motel." Thrusting the keys against his brother's chest, Dean turned from the table and didn't look back. Walking the seven blocks back to their room, Dean felt simultaneously jealous and happy for Sam. But was also annoyed. He didn't like sharing his brother. These people had had him for years, wasn't it Dean's turn yet?

It was two more hours before Sam wandered home, as it were. Seen his brother stretched languidly in his boxers under the sheet munching God-knows-what-this-time annoyed Sam and he let the door close a little harder than needed, drawing Dean's attention.

"Have fun?" His tone wasn't especially confrontational, nor was it particularly interested sounding.

"Yeah, Dean, I did. You know it's nice to socialize with people from time to time." Dean made a non-word grunt in acknowledgement that Sam had spoken, but his eyes had long since returned to the TV.

"They're my friends you know, not some strangers we just met. Would it have killed you to be a little bit more…social?"

"Maybe." Dean deflected, still focused on the flashing box and chomping on a cheeto.

"Dean!" Exasperated, Sam snatched the converter from his brother and switched the TV off before ripping the snack out of his fingers and flinging them to the other bed.

"Dude, what's your problem?" Finally, Sam had Dean's undivided attention.

"My problem?" Dean stared incredulously at him. Surely Sam was kidding right? His friends had all but asked Dean how he liked riding the short bus and Dean was the one with the problem?

" Why were you so rude tonight? They were asking questions about you, you didn't have to be such an ass!"

Dean inserted a "hey" before Sam continued.

"God, is it too much to ask to have a normal night out with normal people and have normal, intelligent conversation for a change."

Indignation washed out of Dean's face and hurt glinted in his eyes for a moment before the steel wall fell.

"No Sam," he spoke quietly, "I guess it's not. Sorry." With that, Dean switched off his light and slid further under the covers, back to a frowning, windless Sam.

* * *

"I'm concerned that your son may be having special difficulties, Mr. Winchester. It might be beneficial if he repeated the third grade next term." Dean sat quietly outside the classroom door, listening to Mr. Mahoney and his father talk. He knew his father wasn't happy about having to come to the school.

_Have you been getting into trouble, boy?_

The tone held the implication – I don't have time for this.

He didn't try to find trouble He tried to be good, honestly he did. Dean's teacher still yelled at him all the time though. Mr. Mahoney was a mean man. He'd complained to his father once, during the first week of classes. He was told him to respect his teachers, they were smart and they were authority. Dean was to mind them. Dean tried hard not to "smart mouth" his teacher. He really did. But sometimes, Mr. Mahoney would say things that didn't make sense and Dean would ask a question. Mr. Mahoney didn't like questions. Still, Dean tried his hardest to respect Mr. Mahoney. Even after he slapped him. Twice.

"What are you trying to say, Mr. Mahoney?" John Winchester was tired and he really didn't have time for this. Dead had never gotten into as much trouble at any other school as he seemed to here. _Must be that age, _John though wearily.

"Your son lashes out and he doesn't complete his work very…effectively. I think he is struggling. I hate to use the word, but intellectually speaking Dean isn't normal, he's….special. You can see yourself in the grades and his assignments." The teacher pushed a rather fat file across the table.

John knew his boy was no dummy, but they wouldn't be here much longer, raising fuss with the teacher would only cause undue attention. So he opened the file and appeared to consider it.

"I see. Maybe you're right then." Agreement was always the path of least resistance, afterall.

Outside, twin droplets fell before a small fist angrily wiped them away. His father was acquiescing to the teacher. Teachers were smart. They knew things about children.

They moved two weeks later and Dean didn't repeat the third grade. But he asked another boy in his class what "special" meant. Tommy explained it was what teachers called the stupid kids.

When Dean Winchester was nine, he learned to hate the word "normal."

* * *

A/N - Please R&R. Part two should be up in a day or so.


	2. Soldier Boy

Disclaimer - See chapter one.

Well, here is the finale part. First, shout-out to my reviewers, who happen to be some of my all-time favourite authors, so your words were extra special.

Also, I am a Canadian who has never written the SATs, so my knowledge comes from what I've seen on TV. If I am off in my scoring, please let me know and I will make the necessary changes. I hope you enjoy it, though I've angsted it up pretty good, I think.

Here were go...

* * *

The next morning found Sam muttering under his breath about self-absorbed jerks as he rummaged around in the trunk of the Impala, searching for a clean sweater. The air had taken on a chill in the night and, having plans for breakfast with his buddies, Sam was up early. He didn't know why he was still mad at Dean. His brother had even apologized to him. Oh yeah, that's what it was. Something so uncharacteristically Dean and it had thrown the world into a tailspin. Dean was unapologetic. He was cocky, self-assured and unapologetic. So what the _hell_ had happened last night?

Puffing out air when his search for a clean sweater left him empty handed, Sam turned on a heel and headed back into the motel room. Maybe he could find something in Dean's bag.

Hearing the shower running, Sam made quick work of rifling through his brother's things. Fingers finally curling around some sort of long sleeve that smelled clean, Sam gave a good tug. God, his brother was such a slob. Along with several other items, the sweater pulled loose and as the water turned off Sam rushed to scoop everything up and shove it back as it had been. But something iced his motion.

A well-worn formally-white envelope. A group of them, actually. The first had a university logo on it. Sam frowned. Why would Dean have kept Sam's university acceptance letters? The name on the envelope had him frowning deeper. Still crouched on the floor over his brother's strewn things, Sam jammed a finger into the jagged mouth and withdrew an equally worn paper.

"What the hell are you doing?" Startled, Sam looked up from his reading to see Dean standing over him, towel around his neck and undone jeans adorning his hips. Snarling, Dean snatched his papers out of Sam's hand and proceeded to gather all the clothes (including the long-sought after sweater) back into his bag.

"Dean, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…I was looking for a sweater. Mine are dirty." This resulted in the aforementioned article being flung haphazardly at his head with a guttural "here."

"Dude, those were college logos and I think I saw an SAT results letter. I didn't even know you wrote them. Why-"

"Don't Sam. Just don't." Violently pushing things into his bag, Dean snatched a T-shirt from the pile and pulled it over his head. The silver writing stretched across his torso and informed all that he was Back in Black.

* * *

_It had been four days since his last meal when Dean snuck out of the house on that dewy Saturday morning. Their father was working a job and had run over a week longer than predicted. Dean had told Sam he was doing some pick-up work at the school garage for a bit of cash. His brother, fourteen and perpetually moody about something, had replied "So? I don't care. I don't need you here."_

_Reaching his destination, he pushed open the heavy metal doors and found his way to a rickety desk. Pulling a calculator and half-a-dozen pencils from his pocket, Dean was ready. When the proctor finished reading the instructions and called Start, he carefully tore the paper latch and opened the pristine white booklet to the first page. Methodically, he bubbled in his responses. Double checked. Triple checked._

_All the while, repeating over and over to himself, "I'm not stupid."_

_Some hours later, with his gut moaning in emptiness, Dean Winchester finished his SATs._

* * *

The room was silent after Sam departed. He was off to have breakfast with his friends. In an olive-branch moment, he'd asked Dean to join him but got a scoffing snort in return. _Fine then,_ Sam had huffed before slamming the door behind him.

Dean was miserable. He wanted to move on from this stupid little not-even-on-the-map town. They were only supposed to crash here for a night. But then Sam's friends had shown up and his brother obviously had no interest in leaving anytime soon. He passed his day watching old movies on the grainy television, surfing Sam's laptop for their next gig. Eventually, he grew tired of the monotony of the room and headed off, back to the pub down the way.

An old Kansas song played on the Juke Box and with a cold beer half way gone, Dean felt his mood improving. Of course, that was when things crashed back down for him in the form of his brother's large paw clapping down on Dean's shoulder. Sure, he'd known Sammy and co had come into the pub, but he'd been hoping they'd leave him be. Not the case. Sam insisted Dean come sit with them, the afternoon with his friends apparently causing amnesia of their earlier spat. Fine with Dean. Sammy was happy, that was what mattered, after all.

After some time, the group had taken to telling stories and remember-whens. First it had just been people in the immediate group, then branching out into "I can top that, just wait 'til you hear what my cousin/uncle/grandmother/neighbour" did tales. Of course, Sam had to throw in his as well. Unfortunately, his were all about Dean. Dean sat to Sam's left, fighting to keep his fake-grin at full power as the group howled over Sam's latest tale. He could've told some whoppers about Sammy, but his heart just wasn't in the evening.

"Oh Sam," Lucy crowed between gasping breathes, lips stretched wide in perpetual laugh, "Your brother sure is cute, but he's kind of a lunk eh?"

There wasn't really any malice behind her statement, but when Sam piped in, "don't I know it" leading to more laughs, white hot shame bubbled in Dean's chest. Swallowing the rest of his beer, he managed to slip from the group unnoticed as they turned to watch something or other on the bar TV.

Back at the motel, Dean perched carefully on the edge of his bed and withdrew a crumpled white paper that he'd jammed into his pocket that morning. Unrolling it and smoothing the wrinkled against his denim thigh, he read it over and over, until he eyes burned and he flung backwards onto the bed, paper drifting to the floor near his feet. And that was how Sam found him some thirty minutes later.

"Dean, man, what happened to you? I looked up and you were gone. You didn't even say anything." As Sam sat on his own bed, across from his unmoving, silent brother, the paper caught his eye and he snatched it up. Blue orbs doubled in size.

"My God, Dean." The incredulity in his voice was enough to pull Dean upright and this time when he tried to reef the page back, Sam held it out of reach.

"This-how, I don't understand. When did you write the SATs? These scores are…God, Dean." The page, with careful black type, boasted a proud total score of 1585.

"What, you think I was too stupid? I'm just big, dumb lunk-headed Dean who eats too much. Did you ever go hungry when we were kids, huh?"

_Because I did_ hung unspoken between them.

"No, you didn't. I made sure. I took care of things." Dean rose violently, unable to reign in his hurt anymore. "I'm not stupid!" Tears burned in his throat but he choked them back as he spun to face a now standing Sam, worry splashed across his delicate features.

"I never thought you were." Dean snorted. "Dude, what's this about? With you had scores like this, you could have gone to college anywhere, probably with a full ride. Why didn't you ever say anything?"

"It doesn't matter, Sam. I made a choice and it was the right one. I wasn't right for college. I just wanted…" His voice was quiet as he trailed off and Sam waited.

"Wanted what?" Sam probbed gently,

"To prove that I wasn't stupid. That I could be the smart one, for a change, instead of just some atomoton who follows orders." Sam had never seen his brother look more like a child than in this moment and he was at a loss for words.

"Dean, I know you're not… you're one of the smartest guys I know. I don't know where you got this idea, but, dude, you aren't stupid okay? And I've never thought that." Suddenly, Dean's upset over the other night at the pub made sense, now Sam could see the slighted comments and digs at Dean lack of college background from his friends. And he'd done nothing. He'd defended them. Shame burned his cheeks red.

"I'm sorry, Dean." Deflated, his brother nodded and an awkwardness fell over the room.

"Let's get out of here okay? Drive for a couple hours, find our next job. Yeah?" A peace offering. A life raft. Dean dove for it.

"Yeah."

* * *

_Dean Winchester was eighteen years old when he slunk out the front door and into the raining night. He made his way onto the motel room roof, two envelopes, now sodden, crushed in his hand. It was his SAT scores, in one and the logo from MIT bleeding from wet paper on the other. Opening the first carefully, he closed his eyes in happiness at the score it boasted. He basked for a moment then carefully put the pieces back together and moved to the second envelope._

_MIT wanted him. He was eighteen and he could have a future. Again he closed his eyes, this time in pain. The voices of his father and brother carried from beneath him and he fought to block out world war three, four, five, whatever they were up to now. What would happen to them, if he left? Who would take care of them?_

_Dean Winchester was eighteen years old when he bowed his head with rain sluicing over him. He was eighteen years old when, for the first time in a long time. the in him soldier took leave and the boy Dean wept, grieving for the person he could never realize._

The End.

Thanks for reading. Please R&R!

-Elle


End file.
